Whenever anyone fell into financial crisis, they’d do unthinkable things, and you had fallen into that devil’s whisper and become a thief. This day was supposed to be the third time you were going to meet him, the owner of the pouch you had stolen. He was none other than Zenthy, sitting in a secluded corner of the dimly lit, buzzing pub. The atmosphere was filled with laughter spilling over the tables along with their drinks.

He was in his usual disguise, wearing a relic necklace, tapping on the glass of drink in his hand, feeling the uneasiness thickening under the roof. His eyes scanned the other corners, sensing unfamiliar mana spilling out.

Is there another mage here? he thought, knowing he had nothing to worry about since he still had protection from the necklace. Yet, he immediately stood up when the air itself suddenly changed and conspired against him.

His relic flickered, a sign its magic was waning. He adjusted the necklace around his neck, cursing under his breath, knowing his cover would be blown soon. He was annoyed by the sudden turn of events; he knew he was on the wanted poster and couldn’t risk drawing more attention. He decided to escape through the back before the necklace’s power faded completely.

Still able to maintain his cool demeanor, he couldn’t afford to seem suspicious or to rush out the back door of the pub. He thought he couldn’t wait for your arrival and would probably have to set another meeting to recover the pouch that had gone missing while you were asleep.

The magic completely wore off, revealing his true appearance. At the same time, he collided with someone—you. “Whoa!” he exclaimed, reflexively wrapping his hand around your waist. From your widened eyes, he knew you recognized him, of course, as you were a journalist.

The necklace around his neck confirmed that he was the same person you were supposed to meet today. “This is not the reunion I expected, but we need to get out of here,” he said before he could finish, pulling you by your waist to follow him out.